That each, with
luminous watch on wrist, was even now timing himself, to the second,
before striking the single note calculated to produce, in harmony with
all the rest, the finished composition. Such an assumption partook
more of the stuff of an Arabian Nights tale than of stern reality in
this Twentieth Century and on the outskirts of the world's greatest
city.
The Master, crouching, whispered:
"Two minutes more! Keep your eyes on your watches, now. Get your
lethal guns ready! In 120 seconds, you will hear the first capsule
burst. Ten seconds after that, Alden, fire yours. Ten later, yours,
Bohannan. Ten later, yours, Rrisa. Listen hard! Hold steady!"
The silence drew at them like a pain. Rrisa breathed something in
which the words: "_La Illaha ilia Allah_" transpired in a wraith of
sound. Alden nestled closer into the ferns. Bohannan could hardly hold
his poise.
All three now had their capsule pistols ready. The self-luminous
compass and level attached to each gun gave them their exact direction
and elevation. Glimmering watches marked the time, the dragging of the
last few seconds.
The Master drew no weapon. His mind, directing all, observing all, was
not to be distracted by even so small a detail as any personal hand in
the discharge of the lethal gas.
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